


Finding an Exit

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Drabble Sequence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Rosenkreuz, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-31 02:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12666627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: It would be easier not to have the voices in his head all the time.





	Finding an Exit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 Weiss Kreuz vs Saiyuki "Last Dance" battle for the prompt _Six times in Schuldig's life he has tried to get rid of his telepathy._

He is ten. All his life he has heard people's thoughts, and blurted them back unwarily. He has no friends. Teachers find him _difficult_ , and suggest he has special needs. His father says he's a little shit. His mother begs him to be good.

The wire is live, and his father says don't touch it. If he put it in his ear, perhaps he wouldn't hear other people's thoughts all the time. _Stupid fucking kid, why couldn't she have an abortion?_ He doesn't want to hear.

He picks up the wire.

There's a blank spot in his memory ever after.

 

* * *

 

He is twelve. It is six months since he was taken to Rosenkreuz. Terror and homesickness are as bad as he thinks it gets, until an older boy overcomes his mind with raw power and his body with sheer strength. Now he refuses to meet anyone's eyes, and endures his assailant mentally replaying the attack for him, over and over.

If he didn't have this, this fucking _gift_ , at least one source of the torture would _stop_.

It takes him four days to get the courage to do it, then he runs his head full force into a concrete wall.

 

* * *

 

He is sixteen, and has just seen his fucking _unfair_ evaluations. _Lots_ of kids attempt suicide when Rosenkreuz first takes them; he wasn't even trying to kill himself. Probably. Calling him _unstable_ is a pile of shit. Saying he shouldn't ever be placed on a team is complete bollocks.

Unstable telepaths are dangerous. Everyone knows that. But telepathy isn't his only ability. He's inhumanly fast and agile. He just needs that to be his _main_ eval. He just needs the telepathy . . . downgraded.

Pre-cog drugs are bad for telepaths, everyone knows that. He smiles as he starts to take the pills.

 

* * *

 

He is twenty. He's getting bored with Crawford, who never tires of the reminders that he wasn't happy with the assignment. Like a baby agent would be offered anything better than a half-deaf _unstable_ telepath, of course.

"I'm the best fucking mindreader you'll ever meet, you do realize that?"

Crawford's eyeroll is _epic_. What a shit-head.

 _I suppose you want to try for someone else?_ "Maybe I'll just cut my telepathy fucking _out_ and you fucking can - "

"What the fuck?"

Crawford's hand is on his wrist before he can get the knife-blade to his temple. He looks genuinely upset.

Interesting.

 

* * *

 

He is twenty-six. The bed dips as Crawford sits on the edge. His hand feels cool as he pushes away sweat-damp hair.

"I thought you were finally over this," he says. "Homemade electro-shock therapy, Schuldig? What were you thinking?"

"Not much." It hurts to speak, but he has to. The voices in his head are quiet for once. "I found one of Farf's notebooks." It takes whole seconds before Crawford realises he's joking. The look on his face makes everything hurt more.

"Don't," Crawford says. "Don't do this again. Please." He leans down for a kiss.

But it's so _quiet_.

 

* * *

 

He is thirty-five. The night's events play over and over, like another telepath forcing their way in. Crawford wasn't sentimental, so why would he jump into danger? His forty-year-old knees would feel the effects of that desperate lunge tomorrow if he hadn't been shot.

 _Jesus._ He covers his face, keeps tears down by sheer will. _Oh, Jesus._ It feels terrifyingly cold, a telepath by himself in the world. Thinking of it that way makes it seem less pathetically _normal_.

Normal. The thought suddenly pulls as it hasn't in years.

He promised Crawford. But Crawford would understand.

But he promised.

But -


End file.
